Chapter Eight: Reflections and The Highest Mountain

[Purr]

Spoiler

by Type O Negative


"Hey wolf moon


Come cast your spell on me,


Hey wolf moon


Come cast your spell on me.


Beware


The woods at night,


Beware


The Lunar light."


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Sparkle's reply to Luna is as immediate as her slow and smooth transformation. The Pseudo-dragon's scales blend into all that surrounds her and in moments she has vanished, nigh-undetectable by most eyes. Worry not about me, dear firelight. I did not survive to my age without knowing a trick or two.





But then the woods around you suddenly darken. The bright sunlight seems to flee as if a great black cloud has covered all. In moments, the morning forest around you is cloaked in a cold, haunting darkness though the sun still shines far, far above. No beams of gold lance down through that shroud. All warmth fades.

Spoiler

(Image credit:pohlmannmark.deviantart.com)

[QUOTE="Captain Hesperus]"You know you have us surrounded and we know you have us surrounded so, Fair Kin, why not send forth an emissary that we might have parley and learn each others' purpose."
He held his hands out and away from his sides, palms up, and started to advance upon the surrounding forest.

[/QUOTE]
"'Fair Kin...'" comes the reply in Common. The voice is more growl than the speech of people. It is male and very definitely adult, savage and filled with naked hate.


"I want...


your neck...


in my jaws...


'Fair Kin.'"


Hollow laughter suddenly bursts from all around you, all tinged with uncivilized harshness. Many voices for certain, Elven yet not Elven. As the laughter dies down, the forest seems to breathe all about you, inhaling and exhaling slowly, branches and leaves moving in unison.


Powerpaw looks about, uncertain and all-too-ready to kill. He has the eyes of a warrior without a target, yet filled with the knowing that all of you are a target for something unknown to him. "Bren," he snaps in Celestial. "I can't sees 'em! I can't even smells 'em..."





"Nor will you, my son, unless they wish you to." Melshaef's eyes widen in understand. It is a discovery that she does not find to her liking. She whispers to you. It is just loud enough for you to hear as is the shivering chill of fear in it. She turns, but not quickly. Her gaze falls uneasily on Otiorin. It lingers there in growing worry.


"Brendoran... We are surrounded by Grugach."






This one word is known to most expert adventurers in and around Summerset, including yourselves (save for Powerpaw who has no way of knowing it up to this point in our tale).


Grugach is the word the Wild Elves use for themselves.

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 6:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects:

"Well, it had to happen sooner or later.", Otiorin sighed, "I have met Wild Elves and my life is endangered. I have grieved long and hard since hearing of the pain of the Wild Elves and I had hoped that I might make some reparation to restore that which a most accursed member of my kind has wrought."


He dropped his bow and quiver, then carefully unbuckled Moonlit Edge from his belt and set it gently upon the forest floor.


"If you wish to take my life, then step forth and look me in the eye when you strike me down, if you feel that all my kind are unworthy of life."

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

"No." Bren stands firm beside Otiorin. Though he makes no move towards his weapon (yet), his borrowed shield is ready to defend his half-elven friend. His words are in reply to Oti, but his voice is loud enough for all around to hear. "If they wish to take your life, it is out of ignorance and prejudice alone, and I'll not stand for such injustice. Children of the wild wood! Did you not hear that we are come to aid a druid, this area's guardian? If you would call yourselves friends of the forest, as this half-blood has been named, stand down! If you are seeking the one who destroyed your own home, seek the one who matches the destroyer's heritage! Has not Kyrasani of the Wild told you, as she has told me, that your people's enemy is half-drow? My friend is from Waterwind, not the Underdark -- gray elf, not drow!" He stares out at the concealing darkness, listening hard for the sound of loosening bows and preparing to interpose himself and his shield between Otiorin and the incoming arrows.

 

[Sherwood]

Luna frowns at the threat leveled against them by the elves. She stays silent in the fear that she will say just the wrong thing and start a fight, but she stands tall with her head held high, showing solidarity with the rest of her companions.

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield x2, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Protection From Arrows, Scorching Ray x3


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 6:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects:

"You words mean nothing to them, Lord Sarabina. Their once- sharp eyes are clouded by hatred and fear deafens their once-superlative hearing.", Otiorin replied, not taking his eyes from the surrounding trees, "Their feral bloodlust drives them, making them little better than some crazed badger, hungry only to tear and rip and despoil. They don't care for heritage, they only see the cardinal signs of a Half-elf and seek to destroy the bearer. But I ask of them, implore of them, in exchange for my life, these my comrades shall continue unhindered and unharmed to complete their mission in assisting Melshaef."


Considering he was signing a death warrant with his own name on it, Otiorin felt calm and collected. His mind was clearer than it had ever been and his purpose was strong for once.

 

[Sherwood]

"No! We will not give up on you!" Luna cries out, despite her efforts to let Bren and Otiorin do the talking. Turning to face the elves in the trees, she angrily spits out, "If you have a quarrel with Otiorin, despite all the good he has done in this world, you have a fight with all of us on your hands! I will not sit by and let you commit a unprovoked attack on this man and do nothing about it!" She plants her hands on her hips and stomps her little foot in a way that might look somewhat comical, but she is deadly serious.

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

"It is as Luna said, Otiorin." Wolf replied, as tense and decisive as a nocked arrow. "We are a fellowship. One for all and all for one, remember? A day may come when one of us shall have to sacrifice themselves for a higher cause, but it is not this day - for like you observed yourself, there is nothing high about the feral beasts that we are about to defend ourselves against."


That said, the ranger nodded once towards Otiorin and offered a reassuring look to Luna. He still did not reach for an arrow, but he was as ready to fight as he could be. "If you've but a shred of conscience, I bid you disperse!" he shouted out in Elven. "We've not come to do harm to you, and neither shall we suffer you to pass it along to any one or all of us!"





Wolf observed the darkened environment with a keen eye, not really expecting a peaceful resolution of the situation and already choosing his future actions.

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

by Type O Negative


"We don't care


what you think


We don't care


what you think"


"Hate hate hate - hatred for all - one and all


No matter what you believe - we don't believe in you


And that's true"


"We hate everyone


We hate everyone"


"Some would say that we're biased


accusations that we are racist


Well, shit, shit, shit comes in all hues


Now this means you


'Cause things ain't always like they seem


Like they seem"


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As each of you call out to the voices in the forest, the laughter of what lies inside rises and rises, becoming wilder and less-Elven, more animal-like, until soon the howling hardly sounds like that of Elves at all. One voice booms out over the rest - the voice that spoke before. "'Ignorance and prejudice!' From a sapling human, no less! Such theatre!"


Others join in, hate-filled voices snarl out from bush and tree. "'Forest friends!' Hah! Where were you when our home was aflame?"


"Aye! Where were you when our ancients wept, roasting to death along with the trees they were born in? While our babes burned alive?! Know you their screams in your nightmares as we?!"


"Think the speaking of few names will soften us? Beguile us?"


The older voice speaks again. "The half-man worst of all... Speaking as if he knows us. Heritage indeed. Half-man, the only thing more ridiculous than you pretending to know my people is how very little you clearly know of your own." There is the sound of spitting. "Look at you. On your knees. Begging treaty for death. I walked among your ancestors. Perhaps it is best that they did not live to see this sad moment."


"Aye! Twin-bloods were once both feared and cherished!"


The laughter dies. The older voice sniffs. "Think that we will relinquish advantage and come to you, cunning, deceitful little half-man? Oh no... Instead we take your offer - but on our terms."


"Rise. Come to me. Alone."


"Do as I say and your friends live as you ask, perhaps only to bury you. Fail and there will be more blood than just yours." His growl is merciless. "And for Corellon's sake, deceiver, take up your enchanted blade that you might die with good steel fang in your hand. Let all here witness if your deeds can match your words."


Melshaef hisses. "Is the word of a Druidess of Blessed Ehlonna not enough for you? He is innocent!"


"It is not..."


Vardadraug bursts forward and howls out. The Daughters of Summertime peer out from under his fur, frightened but visible. Vardadraug sends. I am Ehlonna's own! He has proven himself to me!


"It matters not, Exalted Wolf. In these times, every half-man save one has deceived, and the one before us now is not that one."


Powerpaw glances only once toward Bren, his hand on the Wayfarer's Cudgel. The menace in his voice, so full of restrained bloodlust, is the stuff of true fright. He speaks to the forest. "You realizes... he's one'a us. If you bleed Rin, you iz dead elfies..."


"We are more prepared for death than you realize, fearless cat-beast..."


"Now, half-man. Come!"

 

[Sherwood]

"Why should he step forward? Do you great and noble elves feel the need to hide a cold blooded murder from those that would speak of your cruelty?" Luna sneers in the direction of the voices. "I name you cowards, to hide in the trees and threaten innocent travelers. Stand forth and face us!"

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield x2, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Protection From Arrows, Scorching Ray x3


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am

 

[Kaerri]

Brendoran, human fighter/ranger

Standard AC: 27


Fort save: +12


Ref save: +8


Will save: +4


Current action points: 9


Current HP: 87/87


Status effects: none


Powerpaw's tower shield +1


(-2 to attack rolls)


Spell: Speak with Animals

Where was Bren when the wild elves' home burned? Far to the north, saving a different forest from evil deities and the armies of the Black Fang, currently besieging Highwind. The human sees no point in bringing this up, however; who is reasonable when discussing the destruction of their homeland? And wild elves are less reasonable than most even at the best of times (from a "civilized" person's perspective, at least).


Instead, Bren turns to Otiorin and speaks very quietly, under the cover of Luna's speech. "I leave it to you, my friend. I don't advise it; we all stand ready to fight by your side if need be. You need not go alone unless it's your wish. But please, don't decide out of misguided guilt. If you choose not to duel, we'll back you to the end -- ours or theirs. But if you do choose to fight, fight truly and with all you've got. Don't give your life away. Remember Bria is waiting for you to return. But, if you do fight him..." He hesitates a moment, uncertain how much to tell, how much time for explanations they'll be allowed. "Be wary of his teeth. Don't let him -- any of them -- bite you, whatever comes."

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 6:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Draconic Claws

"As you wish.", Otiorin replied, his every word as heavy as the stroke of the hammer driving nails into a coffin lid.


He picked up Moonlit Edge and unsheathed her enchanted blade with a sibilant hiss.


"I suppose it's pointless getting your oath that, regardless of the outcome, my comrades will be left unscathed? I doubt Wild Elves would care to honor their word any more. And in answer to your question, I was safely at home in Waterwind, while your world was turned to flame and ruin, your families killed and your heritage lost. I was sheltered by my family from the atrocities of the world, yet when honored Skaagenrackner told me of your woes, I swore before him, by my own shed blood and in sight of all the Gods of Good and order that I would do everything within my power to offer aid to you and yours. It seems, though, that you are wrought only to bring death and devastation. A broken people seeking to break what little remains of your reputation by slaying innocents you overcome in the dark recesses of Shandra's Evergreen. Truly you are fallen, sadly you shall be lost for all time."


He started to advance on the forest, weapon ready.


"I had hoped that my first meeting with the Wilderkin would have been more fortuitous, but alas, that is not the case. It shall begin and end in blood and death."


So saying, he cast the Mage Armor to sheath himself in a shimmering field of light, even as his skin hardened and turned silvery.


"Charmsring, cherished forebearer, forgive me for what I must do to those who are in need. I tried all other routes."

 

[Purr]

A reply comes from the unseen voice, thick and feral with its own accent. "Perhaps inwardly you quake in fear? Your lips have run miles, but your feet remain rooted."


Again, the pine branches and oak leaves swell and recede as one. In the direction of the voice, a few of these branches open ever so slightly, as if creating the smallest of paths deeper into darkness.


"Run more than your mouth, half-man..."

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 5:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Draconic Claws

"I don't need to run, it's hardly like you're in any hurry. And I'd rather be half man and be assured that I have a spine, than all Wild Elf and cower in the undergrowth.", he replied, still unperturbed by their taunts.


He lifted Moonlit Edge to his face and breathed gently upon her mirrored surface rimed with frost. Instantly the blade ignited with a cool blue glow that defiantly opposed the darkness of the forest.


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[Sherwood]

In a quiet, urgent voice, Luna says, "Wait. I would be a poor friend if I let you go without some magical aid." She places a hand on Otiorin's shoulder and casts a spell. "Shield." If that doesn't trigger a hostile response from the elves, Luna goes up with a second spell, this one cast on herself. "Protection From Arrows."

Spoiler

The Shield spell grants +4 AC for the next eight minutes for Otiorin, and the Protection From Arrows grants Luna DR 10/magic that absorbs 80 points of ranged damage for the next 80 minutes.


Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am, DR 10/magic for 80 minutes

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

Note to all, myself included: In Adventurers' Table (page #112, entry #2792), it was explained that Luna would cast Shield on herself followed by Protection from Arrows. The following takes place immediately.


Luna begins the somatic movements and begins reciting the magical words necessary to cast Shield upon herself. What happens next happens in a handful of seconds. She is not halfway through the spell when a sudden commotion rises from the woods. Words are quickly spoken, some in incredulous tones, others in growing wrath and hostility, and yet others rise in sudden alarm. All emotions therein seem to intensify with great alacrity.


(The following words are spoken in the Elven language. They are heard from voices all around you. They nearly all speak at once.)






"Beware!"


"She casts upon us!"


"Alas! They attack!"


"Kill the Betrayer!"


"No!"


There are faint sounds of quick movements in the woods, but three among your number spot something not seen by the others.






Perhaps it is the half-elf's combination of great perception and position combined with his innate knowledge of Elven tactics, perhaps it is something else entirely, but Otiorin's eyes tell him of quickly-moving elves. Perhaps it is well too that both Bren and Wolf see into the forest well-enough to experience the same as Otiorin in this moment.


The three of you spot one stealthy, camouflaged figure in the brush training his bow on Luna as she is in mid-cast. With incredible speed, his bow and string bend in deadly intent. Just as he is about to loose, there is the sound of another bow loosing nearby, followed immediately by the sound of something being struck with a thud. The three of you see the stealthy figure recoil in shock as the side of his own bow is struck by a red-tipped arrow, skewing his aim even as the arrow from his own bow is loosed. The shaft flies out toward Luna faster than the eye can follow...


Something suddenly zips right by Luna with terrifying speed between her head and her casting hand. Sparkle gasps and ducks. Something quick and sudden and very arrow-like goes right past the two of you.


Then from the darkened wood, that heavy voice hidden within booms in the Common tongue with urgency incarnate. "Mageling, for the sake of both our races - cease!"


What do the Wayfaring Wanderers do (or not do)?


Does Luna complete her spell or abort (and keep) it?

 

[Sherwood]

Luna lets out a startled yelp as the arrow whizzes past her head. An angry voice inside her head yells out, Those fools! Don't they know the difference between an attack spell and a defensive one? I can show them the difference quite easily! Then, the tiny angel version of Luna appears on her shoulder and whispers a more calming message. A non spellcaster wouldn't be able to identify the differences in spells, and if the owner of that arrow wanted to, he could have targeted you instead of a near hit. Stand down, Luna.


Swallowing her anger at being shot at, she directs a glare about her as she once more puts her hands on her hips, but hardly at ease.

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield x2, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3, Protection From Arrows


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

"I don't wanna be


I don't wanna be me


I don't wanna be


Be anymore"


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The commotion does not die down just because Luna ceases to cast. The sounds from the trees and shrubs are angry, snarling, and seething dangerously, with nothing that resembles self-control. The Voice of the Wood shouts again and again in Elven as the other voices shout back. A terrible argument ensues.

Spoiler

"No! No! Do not give in!" demands the Voice of the Wood.


He is answered by desperate calls and cries that surround you all. "Why should we not?!"


"End him!! We suffer! Free us! Free us all!"


"Aie! His presence bleeds us! Please! Just slay him!!"


"No! He will be judged! Remember - we remain Corellon's children!"





"To what end?! All twin-bloods must DIE!"


"Do not give in! Stay true! The sage will find the truth!"


Another bemoans in awful despair, "The Sage of the Forest lies dead! Burned slowly and alive! We wander, ever lost!"


"You know of whom I speak! Our new sage - she can see what we cannot! We go to summon her! She will see the twin-blood! She will provide us Corellon's sunlight so that we... might... remain... true!"


That one voice - the Voice of the Woods - commands the rest for the moment with absolute authority. Growls becomes tensed whispers, all at the behest of the Voice of the Wood that beckons to Otiorin.


That voice takes barks at Luna in the Common tongue. "Fool of a mageling, risking all for vanity! Attempt to cast again and watch your half-man be slain! I will not be able to stop them a second time!!" Gone are the mocking tones here; no taunts come from those lips now. His every word is deathly-serious.


As Otiorin draws deeper into the wood, he soon senses a great presence before him. It is a chilling experience. It is like being in the open vicinity of an animal predator, wild and unhinged, strong and free, kept alive only by his following of his own code of survival - and you are within the reach of his fangs. "You have brought steel as I have asked you," says the voice with questionable self-control. "Good! This is not personal, half-man. We are cursed. The Betrayer is the cure. If you must die, at least you do so on your feet standing tall with weapon in hand! Not mouthing away on your knees like some orcish slave. The ancestors of yours that I knew... would have found such an end... most unbecoming."


There is a sniffing sound as Otiorin nears the edge of the area where the rest of the Wayfaring Wanderers can see him. The Voice of the Wood audibly shudders as if Otiorin's very scent assails him. His voice becomes deeper, more savage, in a way that elves are not known to be to the civilized mind; perhaps as elves were not ever meant to be. His voice quivers uneasily, perhaps at Otiorin's nearness. Otiorin hears the words of a man barely in control of himself.


"It is true! Now that I smell you... you are a twin-blood! No disguises this time; I can speak plainly to you now..." he pauses, gulping, a trembling uncertainty filling his half-growls. For a moment, he almost seems to plead. "I know what your man-friend said. I... will try not to bite you! Truly! No matter what fate you must meet... you should not joins ours! You... who ignorantly speaks as if he knows we Grugach! As if he has any idea of what he is facing!" This is followed by the deliberate crunching of leaf and earth as the Voice of the Wood steps forth. His tread is far heavier than an elf's should be. In fact, it sounds more like the tread of Powerpaw minus his armor. The first thing Otiorin notes is the Voice's forest-green eyes.


He growls. "You call us cowardly? Honorless? 'Sadly, we shall be lost to all time?' His throaty, bestial chuckle is enough to send tingles down the spine and melt the courage of normal men like ice meeting the hottest of flames. "Think you know our sadness?"


The Voice of the Wood nears the circle of frosty light provided by the Moonlit Edge and with it... Otiorin and the Wayfaring Wanderers see this emerge from the cover of Shandra's Evergreen...

"So..." the Voice of the Wood trembles, his face and limbs quivering madly. His twitching eyebrow raises in curiosity as he stares at Otiorin with the eyes of a cracking madman. "Do you still believe you know so much about we Grugach... half-man?"

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 5:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Draconic Claws

At the appearance of the Voice of the Woods, Otiorin hauled up short, his breath catching in his throat. The being before him was at once feral and majestic, monstrous and magnificent.


"Now that I have set eyes upon my first Grugach, I can honestly say, I know naught of your kind.", Otiorin replied with a note of apology in his voice, "Yet, you use the term 'half-man' as some sort of insult, yet to me it is naught. My father is a noble and honorable man, brave and virtuous. To be likened to him is better than it is to be likened to the Grey Elves I grew up among who taunted, teased and dismissed me my entire youth. I have no especial love for Elvenkind, beyond my own kin, but I do wish to be of aid to the Wild Elves in whatever way I can. So I swore by my own blood before Ancient Skaagenrackner. If, however, your feelings are that only aid I can offer is the pointless taking of my life, then come and take it. Though I do ask that, regardless of what happens to me, you will allow my comrades to go without harm or hindrance. They accompany Melshaef in her search for the survivors of her haven and it is a private matter you have that should only involve me."

 

[Purr]

Spoiler

This post is far from short. Enjoy! =)


More fitting mood music, again from Type O Negative. =)


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Spoiler

Location: Off the trail, about twenty minutes walking-time west from the The Road of Kings (5 days north of Summerset)


Travel time to Highwind: On day 5 of 14.


Sunday, September 21st, 1118. Time: 9:40 a.m.


Weather: The air is calm yet the forest is unusually dark and cold for this time of day:

The Voice of the Wood trembles visibly as he listens to Otiorin. He pads up close enough to touch as he stares down at the roguish sorcerer with a terrible countenance. He speaks with great difficulty. "To us, the wildest of the woods, you are half-man, not half-elf. Does the fault lie with you that you were not raised by your own culture? How can it be thus when there are not enough half-elves left on Sharseya to fill a poor man's home?" He growls menacingly at some unseen foe. "The Betrayer is killing both our peoples, half-man. What you see before you is not Grugach. We were purely elves once..."


Otiorin and the Wayfaring Wanderers sense more than see increasing movement in the woods as the Grugach stir restlessly. They move as one toward Otiorin as moths to bright flame.


The Voice speaks out loud enough in Elven for all to hear. "Come! We call upon our new sage!" In the Common tongue, he adds, "You ought join us, friends of the half-man. If he is indeed the Betrayer, then you should witness his end, and our salvation, for yourselves." His claws and teeth clench as he adds, "Hate us if you will - we have no other path but this."






I am going to take a shot in the dark and say that the Wayfaring Wanderers as a whole follow where the Grugach lead. Given your past actions, I somehow doubt any of you would leave. Therefore, it is assumed that you follow to witness Otiorin's fate. If you have any questions, place them on the Adventurers' Table and I will answer.


Also a note for the Rangers and Rogue in your party: That the Grugach are audibly moving through the woods is notable to people of your profession. In the woods where silence is the often means to life and sound the gateway to death, to have an entire band of wood-dwelling elves up and start making noise is highly-unusual.


The Grugach pack and Otiorin move onward with the Voice of the Wood at their head and Otiorin beside him. They pass by many a darkened tree and shrouded bush though the sun hangs with but few clouds for company in the morning sky. Otoirin is greedily-watched by many pairs of bright green eyes in the forest. They do not walk behind the half-elf, but away to his right and left, just out of sight. Only the Voice of the Wood walks along near him. He appears to examine Otiorin's draconic features without comment.


Meanwhile, in your own group, Powerpaw trods along with raised fur and tail and a greatly irritated expression on his fanged face. "Guyz... I don't get its! First off - what da heck is dat?!" He indicates the Voice of the Wood. "Kinda looks like Anubis, don'tcha think, Mom?"


Mamapaw growls. "That is no guardian of the dead!"


"Den what iz he?!"


"I... know not."





"An' what dey sayin' in elfie-talk?"


"I know not that either. I wish they were speaking in Sylvan..."


Powerpaw adds one nasty growl of his own. "Well, whatever he iz, guys, we iz just lettin' Rin walk off ta get killed? Really?! Am I da only one thinkin' of Bria here?!" Powerpaw looks at you with bafflement. "I mean, if puppy-face goes an' killz Rin, I mean... I can't get da image of Bria on her knees cryin' her eyes out over his grave! An' we iz just gonna let dis son of a bitch go?" Powerpaw shoots Bren an expectant look. "If Rin dies, we iz gonna kill 'im, right Bren? I mean, nobody kills one of ours an' just walks away!" Powerpaw puts his paw on his weapon.


An irritated growl grows audibly in Mamapaw's feline chest. "It is Otiorin's choice, son! Just as it was yours to leave Shamballah and mine to follow you!"


"Yah, I get dat, mom, but... if Rin waz jus' gonna jump offa cliff an' end it, I tink I'd be okies. But... some crazy-elfie wolf-face gets ta kill off a Wayfarin' Wanderer's an' we gets no says? I iz a gladiator! Rin's one'a us! Dis goes against evwieting I iz for! You guyz sayin' we kin only follows along an' watch?!"


Another annoyed voice joins in the conversation, this one from the woods, with an accent both rough and unmistakably fey. "His end, if it comes, will be just, adventurer. You need not your magickally-polymorphed forms here. Revert to your true forms and let mystery fall away."


Powerpaw glares back savagely, his blood-red eyes ablaze with fighting fire. He grins. "Got news for ya, shrimp. Dese are da forms we waz born in. By da glory of Bravest Bast."


Tis true, echoes Vardadraug. He lopes along sadly with the Daughters of Summertime hidden once again in his fur.


The elven voice goes dead silent.


Powerpaw looks to all of you. "So what's it gonna be, guyz?"


But as the group comes to a halt, Powerpaw's question can only linger and fade. The trees have suddenly given way to a blackened clearing fraught with signs of a long-finished battle. Scorch marks, blasted earth, and troubled earth mark a clearing some one hundred feet in diameter. Bits of broken armor, steel, and bone litter the field lit by the brightness and warmth of the golden morning sun.


"Behold," the Voice of the Wood welcomes you in savagely-spoken Common with a wave of his paw, "Hope's Descent. The field of battle where fell Chyphen of the Sky, the last half-elf prince, some two hundred years ago, against the Seven Gnoll Tribes." The Grugach stay at the edge of the shadowy forest visible only by their forest-green eyes. There, they listen still and without interruption.


"Prince Chyphen and his war-torn host had made it this far in their attempt to reach the mountain you now call Highwind when the seven gnoll chieftains and their hordes finally surrounded him here. Exhausted and without surrender, he and his brave host fought and stood against ten-to-one odds until the very end. There, upon the field, Prince Chyphen drew forth his shining sword and cup and shouted out the name of a Vorgore he had himself defeated so long before that day. Vorgore usually fight in small packs, however it was with this one alone that Prince Chyphen had come to a secret and final pact. The horrifying demon-like beast heard the prince's call from his nearby home in the Fire Scar. He answered the pact, ever-lusting for battle."


"And so, with a dozen gnollish axes in his body, did Prince Chyphen leave this world and slip into the next, slashing and stabbing to the last. The Vorgore, called by name, arrived. As those hellish beasts are ever wont to do, the monster of old laid waste to all things on the battlefield, good and evil, brave and cowardly, until at last he was upon the corpse of Prince Chyphen. Before this, the Vorgore was said to have bowed briefly and paid respect! Such was his following rage that he fell upon the seven gnoll chieftains until each of them were smoking and forever still. Finally, he took Prince Chyphen's body, sword, and cup with him and flew back toward the Fire Scar. To what end, only the wise know. Only the prince and the monster knew the details of their pact. And so the tale ends."


The Voice of the Wood turns to Otiorin. "This is but one telling of history of what were once your people, half-man, and could be again. Such actions are why some of us believed so dearly in your people, why we offered one of yours into our sacred forest, and why the Burning Betrayal scars us still."


The wind from the clearing blows past you and into the forest behind you. A green-eyed voice in Elvish from the wood cuts in sharply. "Why share these things with him? The Betrayer cares naught for these things!"


The Voice of the Wood replies in Elvish. "Are you so firmly convinced it is he? Until we call forth the Sage of the Forest, we will not act against him." His fist, clenched up until this point, uncurls revealing a small, exquisite charm in the shape of a hawk in flight with deep brown feathers and white-tipped wings. It is entirely made of some sort of crystal. The sunlight dances upon its surface.


Another voice closer to Otiorin speaks sternly. "Speak for yourself. I would see the Curse ended here and now!"


And another. "Aye! A fitting place, would you not say? The place where half-elf nobility ended forever!"


The Voice of the Wood snarls. "Hark! It is the madness that speaks for you!"


"Is it madness? Is it?!"


The Voice of the Wood looks to Otiorin and slowly, he looks around him to where his fellow Grugach begin to emerge. In ones and twos, they gracefully stalk from the cover of the forest, a hardy people wearing incredibly-crafted cloaks, leathers, and furs all of forest colors. Their hair is long and free and they sniff the wind like animals, for theirs is a wildness incomprehensible to the mind of the modern person, yet known always to the creatures that walked Sharseya in eons past.


"The curse takes us all! There is no sunshine!"


One by one, the elves before you begin shift and shape into something greater, something far more feral than any elf was meant to be. As they sniff, they change. As they change, they eye Otiorin with heightening hatred and slipping sanity.


"Every Grugach is cursed to be a werewolf! Woman, man, child, crone!"


"All undone by the Betrayer!"





"Oh, Despair! Corellon forsakes us!"


"No!" The Voice of the Wood steps between Otiorin and his shapeshifting people. He raises his arms, shouting, "Curse me for a fool, half-man! Your scent! My people are downwind of you! The Curse!!"


In swift and sudden seconds, every Grugach of the twenty in their number come running, some at Otiorin, some between Otiorin and those who would slay him. In a shocking blink of time, every one of them leaves behind their Elvish forms and furiously transform into greatly-muscled, fang-tipped, fur-covered killers.


All falls to chaos, savage, snarling, frightening, and bloody. Brother claws brother. Crone savages kin. Mother rakes father. Half of the Grugach are fighting to kill Otiorin and the other half are fighting to save him. The sounds of their melee and their crazed howls of pain and anger are enough to drive the mind to madness.


The Voice of the Wood cries out to Otiorin. "I have killed you before you can be rightly judged! Forgive me!" A brutal punch sends the the crystalline hawk out from his outstretched hand and out of the melee. Anyone not currently involved in the melee can attempt to fetch it or leave it where it lies.


The Voice of the Wood thrashes and battles his kin. "Aie! Throw the hawk into the sky and shout out the Corellon's blessed name... or watch us slay each other! Your heart will now be known!" Then he goes down under a storm of bloody claws and shrieking howls.





The savage melee of werewolves is all around Otiorin, but he has the roguish ability to get out of the mob scene if fortune is with him. The Wayfaring Wanderers are at the edge of the forest and are free to act, or not act, as they will. If you choose to act, please post here and roll Initiative on the Adventurers' Table. If not, please state something to that effect here in Chapter Eight. The fun goes on. Woohoo! =)

 

[Sherwood]

Calling out in Celestial, Luna shouts, "Otiorin! Stand fast! I have a spell that can get to the hawk from here!" Running forward a few feet to get within range for her spell, Luna casts, "Mage Hand!" Reaching out with the arcane spell, she devoutly hopes that the hawk is not immune to magic to dispel her casting.

Spoiler

Cantrips: Detect Magic, Dancing Lights, Mage Hand, Read Magic


1 - Shield x2, Magic Missile x2, Unseen Servant, Ear Piercing Scream


2 - Scorching Ray x3, Protection From Arrows


3 - Haste, Fireball, Displacement, Lightning Bolt


4 - Ball Lightning x2, Shout


Extended Mage Armor in effect until 1 am

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

Otiorin accompanied the hulking but lithe figure known as the Voice in the Woods through the aggressive throng of his fellow Grugach in silence. His heart pounded in his chest and he fought to suppress his limbs from quivering from the flood of adrenaline that coursed through his body. He listened to the Voice's words, nodding mutely where appropriate and tried to block out the anxious voice of Powerpaw behind him.


Do not fret overmuch, my friend, he thought to himself, I'm not done with this life just yet.


He entered the scorched clearing and his eyes widened at the devastation. He could make out Elven steel, still sharp and glistening on the ground, a testament of the ancient Elven art, even though the bearers were now little more than dust on the wind. Again the Voice in the Woods' words strike a chord in him and for a moment, he is back there, in that tumultuous battle.


No, not a battle, a brawl. There were no serried battle lines of hardened warriors, no brilliantly colored banners floating defiantly above the heads of the valiant defenders, no trumpets strengthening the resolve of the resolute fighters. No, the Elven warriors here were bone-tired, travel-sullied and hurting. Their fine garments were torn and muddy, stained with their own blood, their fine features pinched by stress and caked in the filth of the battlefield. They were drawn together, not in rank and file, but in a tight knot, shields and spears to the fore, archers interspersed between. The only sound was that of their noble Half-Elven commander exhorting his troops to stand firm, to retreat not one step. The circle of warriors was shrinking as the bestial gnolls overcame them, one by one. Then, like a soap bubble, the circle broke and the fight became each Elf for themselves. Archers cast aside their bows and drew their swords while spearmen fought back to back to hold off the inevitable. In the midst, Prince Chyphen fought like one possessed, his blade rising and falling like a smith's hammer, bringing ruination to all who dared stand before him. But yet, even that titan could not withstand such overwhelming numbers. His armor failed him, a great many wounds opened on him as the brutish gnolls' weapons found their mark, but even as the prince fell to one knee, he called out the name of his pact-mate and a great dark shadow fell over the battlefield.


The moment was broken as the Voice in the Woods' words dragged him back into the here and now. Otiorin glanced around him in shock, startled by sudden violence that had erupted about him. A swift look to whence he'd come showed him the other Wanderers on the periphery, their faces horrified by the pitched battle that was seeming to play out the history of this ruined place, two forces in mortal combat over the life of a Half-Elf. Luna's voice carried to him over the sounds of combat and he felt lifted by it. But yet he was still in the thick of it all and very much at risk. His hands worked swiftly, even as his lips moved in the ancient Elven tongue, calling the arcane defences of the Shield spell to him. As the magic encased him, he dropped low almost onto all-fours and sought the means to end this foolish violence.


[dice]23050[/dice]

 

[Wolf Rawrrr]

Leonard Wolf - The Ranger

Shape: Human


1st lvl spell: Delay Poison


1st lvl spell: Entangle


2nd lvl spell: Wind Wall

Wolf stood aghast on the sidelines of the fight that had erupted seemingly from nowhere. This was definitely not what he had expected when they all followed the Voice character deeper into the dark woods. It had to be stopped. Seeing Otiorin and Luna already set to that task, Wolf focused and cast his readied Entangle spell in the middle of the fray, hoping to disable as many of the Grugach as possible to prevent them from killing themselves while increasing his friends' chances of success.

 

[Kaerri]

"Den what iz he?!"
"I... know not."

Bren speaks softly, not wanting to draw further ire from their escort, but loudly enough his party can all hear (except maybe Otiorin, who's probably farther ahead). "A werewolf, victim of the curse of lycanthropy. It is an unnatural affliction, one I understand was inflicted upon the Grugach even as their forest burned."

The Voice of the Wood turns to Otiorin. "This is but one telling of history of what were once your people, half-man, and could be again. Such actions are why some of us believed so dearly in your people, why we offered one of yours into our sacred forest, and why the Burning Betrayal scars us still."

Bren can only shake his head, in awe and sorrow. In all his wandering through the woods, he'd never come across this spot, nor heard this story of the half-elven prince. There's no time for further reflection, however, as new conflict is breaking out across the ancient battlefield...

The Voice of the Wood thrashes and battles his kin. "Aie! Throw the hawk into the sky and shout out the Corellon's blessed name... or watch us slay each other! Your heart will now be known!" Then he goes down under a storm of bloody claws and shrieking howls.

The time for thinking has passed. Now is the time for action. Bren springs forward to take his place at Otiorin's side and protect him as the half-elf chooses his own path.

 

[Captain Hesperus]

HP: 56


Spells per day(1st:2nd)/remaining(1st:2nd): 4:3


Spells available: Daze, Detect Magic, Ghost Sounds, Open/Close, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Gravity Bow, Shield, Summon Monster 1, Mage Armor, Ice Slick


Active effects: Mage Armor, Shield, Draconic Claws

Otiorin's spell activated, a disc of magical energy that hovered just in front of him. Behind him, he could see the other Wanderers either in the act of casting or on the move. Move! Otiorin's natural instincts were to flee to safety from amongst the horde of angry, snarling, ripping beast-men around him, but as he turned to find the quickest route to freedom, a glimmer of light caught his eye. He turned and saw the small crystal hawk laid on the blackened ground, a tiny ray of light amongst the ruination. He remembered his oath and his desire to help the Wild Elves by whatever means he could and he moved. He darted toward the icon, keeping low and weaving through the Wild Elves around him.

 

[Purr]

Otiorin moves with all of the deftness and good timing that practiced rogues are known for. In but scant moments, he is out of the savage and frightening melee with the crystalline bird charm in hand. It is but a matter of time (and bare little at that) until he is noticed by the Grugach who maul each other in either an attempt to get him or to keep him safe.


What now does Otiorin do?